


Gentlemen's Agreement

by little Alex (litalex)



Category: Titanic (1997)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-10-25
Updated: 1999-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-13 09:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litalex/pseuds/little%20Alex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from when Jack Dawson was locked up for his falsely accused crime</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gentlemen's Agreement

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: They all belong to James Cameron, who never deserved such gorgeous men in the first place.
> 
> Notes: I wrote this back in 1999, and am uploading purely as a reminder of how absymal my writing skills could be.

A smile on his lips, Caledon Hockley stepped into the room. Both Lovejoy and Dawson looked in his direction. Caledon nodded at his valet and Lovejoy left the room, shutting the door silently. Hands inside his trouser pockets, Caledon strode forward until the he and the boy were face-to-face. Lips pressed into a thin line, Dawson raised his chin.

Past the metal pipes, Caledon's right hand snaked out of his pocket to cup Dawson's face. Alarmed, Dawson took a step back, his eyebrows jumping. Caledon's swept his hand into the golden strands, so soft, just like a girl's, then he tightened his grip. His captive jerked his head away, the pretty mouth slack with confusion and pain. Caledon slipped his hand back into his pocket and walked around Dawson, glancing up and down the slender figure, who continued looking at the door.

"Was she good?"

Dawson's head whipped to the side to face Caledon. "What?"

Caledon calmly smiled. "I said, was she good?"

"That's none of your business." Chin raised, anger burning in his eyes, Dawson looked quite the picture of righteous indignation.

"Considering that she's my fiancée, I'd say it's very much my business." Caledon moved in front of his 'rival', whose gaze followed Caledon obediently.

"She isn't going to marry you, not after--"

"Not after you fucked her?"

Dawson winced. "Don't use that word."

"No? I thought that's how you, pardon, your people, describe such an act."

"My people. Pardon, as you've said, but you know nothing of my people." Dawson craned his neck to keep the eye contact as Caledon once again stood behind him. "And I didn't fuck her. I made love to her."

Caledon shrugged. "As if you'd know the difference."

"Of course I know the difference. For example, if you and Rose did actually marry--"

"We _will_. And Jack? You're quite apparently laboring under a false impression. I don't care to know what you've done to my Rose." Caledon stroked his hand down the whelp's spine, its owner struggling away from Caledon's large hand. "But rest assured that when I'm finished with you, you'll know very intimately what that difference is."

A trace of fear finally colored Dawson's face. "A man can't fu-- fuck another man."

"Then all your time in Paris didn't teach you anything." A bubble of laughter escaped Caledon, who, with his finger, drew a circle through the fabric of the shirt on the small of Dawson's back. "And you, Dawson, are merely a boy. It wasn't wise for you to try playing a man's game, and, now, you're going to pay a man's price for it."

"No, you can't, you--"

"Go on, scream all you want." Caledon roughly but easily tore off Dawson's trousers and underpants. They pooled at Dawson's feet, their owner himself shivering lightly. But was it because of the icy temperature or in fear? Caledon allowed himself a soft smile. "No one can hear you. They're all escaping into the lifeboats."

*****

His heart skipping a beat, Jack felt as though his world had suddenly gone into chaos. "You're crazy, and, and--" Jack struggled to step forward, to put the pipes between the two of them, but his opponent lifted him off the ground and bent him over the pipes.

"Yes, I might be crazy, but I'll be the one living at the end of this." The tone was dry but quite smug.

Jack ground out a low and guttural "No, you bastard!"

The words did not deter Hockley, however. In fact, he merely laughed. "Sorry to inform you, but my parents were appropriately in wedlock when I was conceived."

Jack snorted, but reigned in his retorts. Hockley's smart-alec comments were annoying enough as it was. It would be idiotic for Jack to add insult to his own injuries. As the silence permeated the room, Jack realized that he could hear the soft noise of cloth rustling and buttons slowly removed from button-holes. His mind shrieking of forthcoming horrors, Jack tried throwing his weight toward the front, hoping to roll off the pipes, but a steady hand on his buttocks kept him precariously balanced.

A soft chuckle from Hockley, but Jack could not truly care at this point. The pipes were extremely cold against his body, especially against that very important part of his anatomy. If his appendages froze off-- he stopped the thought before he could start screaming. No way in hell would he give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Hockley's hand was then joined by its counterpart, handling Jack easily, as if Jack was no more than a child. Jack couldn't help but struggle again as Hockley's hands spread open his legs, then one of Hockley's finger managed to snake inside Jack. He surged forward, but could not dislodge the hand on his hipbone. In fact, Hockley's hand was the only thing keeping him from falling headfirst onto the metal floor.

Hockley's finger forced its way in, the burn immediate. A groan escaped Jack, and he winced, appalled at his own lack of control. Fine, so what if the asshole was going to, going to-- damn, the bastard was going to *fuck* his asshole. Jack was, quite frankly, terrified, but he refused to scream; he would take it like a man, to disprove his enemy's words. Eyes closed, Jack chanted silently to himself, "He won't win, he won't win, he won't win..."

Another finger drove in, and Jack bit his lip to halt the reflexive whimper at the pain. Hockley's two fingers pulled at every angle, widening and stretching his small entrance. They withdrew, and Jack breathed a sigh of relief, but then discovered that his torture was far from over. Coated with some unknown gel, Hockley's fingers came back and slid in much easier this time. Slowly, they oiled his passage, smoothing the way. They departed again, and, once more, inserted themselves in, coated with more gel, three fingers now. Then Hockley's fingers were removed, Hockley's hands softly kneading Jack's buttocks. They suddenly grasped Jack's hip and forced his pelvis back. A searing pain, in the form of Hockley's cock, ripped through Jack's body.

Jack bit back another scream, only to hear the soft snort of laughter from Hockley. The two men stayed still, very still for a long minute. Jack not able to move because of the pain, Hockley waiting for Jack to relax, so that /he/ could move.

Hockley spoke again and Jack caught the sardonic and coldly amused tone before the words registered in his mind. "You know, it'd actually hurt less if you relax, Dawson."

"Hurt less" were the only words Jack truly comprehend at this point. So he quickly obeyed, forcing himself to relax, to let in the whole of Hockley's member. It was beating like a heart inside Jack, hot and pounding, each pulse lessening the pain as he himself calmed. He then shuddered, the icy weather clearing his brain. His only source of heat was from Hockley's body, a body that was deliberately pulling back and then thrusting in. The pain had finally morphed into numbness, and Jack did not know what to do. He hated the cold, but, but--

Strong arms wound around Jack and they lifted his body off the pipes, though Jack's wrists were still chained. Hockley's large hands traced across Jack's hips to his shriveled cock. Stroking, massaging, Hockley's hands faithfully coaxed into existence Jack's aroused hardness. Tendrils of enjoyment wove into the act, pain a completely forgotten memory now. As their rhythm steadied, Jack's erection finally made an appearance. Jack whimpered, giving in, allowing himself the excuse that he vowed not to moan when in pain; nothing was said about pleasure.

And pleasure it was. Great was the dose of pain, greater still the dose of ecstasy. Jack could feel himself letting go, could feel himself also thrusting, contributing to both men's gratification. He moaned, whimpered, and finally screamed to his heart's delight. Bliss like this demanded a complete surrender and he gladly jumped into it. He came then, his cock spurting semen all over Caledon's hands. Caledon thrust for half a minute more, then also relinquished his body into the depths of orgasm.

*****

They rested for a moment, then Caledon pulled out of Dawson, drew out a handkerchief from his trousers' pocket, and wiped them both clean. After carelessly throwing the handkerchief to a corner of the room, he fastened his trousers, and then Dawson's. His face impassive, Caledon walked back to stand in front of Dawson. The two men's gazes holding, Caledon slowly took the brass key from his coat pocket and then put the key inside the lock of the handcuffs without turning it. Gracefully, Caledon pressed in to kiss Dawson. Apparently surprised, Dawson did not respond at first, then slowly opened his mouth. They kissed for a while, tongues dueling.

Expression still guarded, Dawson broke the kiss and lifted his wrists, obviously wanting Caledon to release him.

Caledon tilted his head, still studying the slender figure in front of him. "What do you think exactly happened between us?"

Blushing, Dawson stood up from his slight slouch, but looked down at his feet.

"A trade agreement, perhaps? We fucked and therefore you should have your freedom? Is that so?"

A timid nod was still a nod.

Smiling, Caledon grasped Dawson's chin and raised it. Meeting Dawson's startled eyes, Caledon snorted. "I don't care for whores. Now, if you hadn't given in so easily--" His right hand still on the boy's chin, the left one pulled the small brass key back out from the lock and held it up in Dawson's face. "Look at it closely, Jack, for this is the last time you'll see it." Caledon dropped the key back into his pocket.

Dawson jerked his chin away from Caledon's hand, eyes furious. "You took me against my will!"

Caledon sneered and slapped the whelp. Dawson flinched, but the blow connected solidly. "I did nothing of the sort. You kissed me back." Caledon then turned sharply around and marched out of the room. Slamming the door shut, he took out his pocket watch and, looking at it, shook his head. He wasted too much time already; better run up and secure himself, Rose, and Mrs. Bukater seats on the lifeboats. One last glance at the door caused him to laugh delightedly. He had never intended to free the boy in the first place. As always, it was so disgustingly easy to play with the weak-minded that he almost pitied them. Almost.

_\--finis--_


End file.
